Raising James
by xXxMusicSavedMyLifeXxX
Summary: Originally posted on AO3 as different stories. I just simply combined them all into one story here. This follows Sherlock's and John's new life into parenthood. Rated M because of the first chapter and chapters much later on.
1. Utter A Soft Word, John

Sherlock paced around the room. It was nothing new to John, and he easily ignored the action. He hadn't a clue what he was going on about this time. There was no case for the moment. Eventually, the taller man sat down, tapping his foot impatiently. The soft thud of his bare foot made John sigh softly.

"Good Gods, what is your problem today?" John asked, shutting down his laptop.

"Nothing, nothing. I'm fine." Sherlock looked over John. "Come. Sit in front of me."

John sighed softly, but he stood, pulling up a chair in front of Sherlock, sitting in front of the man. "Yes?"

Sherlock didn't answer him. His eyes paused at his lips, staring at them. They weren't chapped. There were no signs of him licking his lips recently. He didn't use chapstick. His lips were naturally soft looking? Were they really as soft as they looked? He could have tested this theory with a finger, but instead he leaned in, pressing his lips to John's briefly.

John froze, eyes wide. What the bloody hell was he doing!? When Sherlock pulled away, he turned his head away, thinking aloud. Another experiment? Is he proving a point to himself? Of course he's always proving a point. What point could he be trying to make clear?

"Utter a soft word, John," Sherlock said, turning back to John. He had the most serious expression on his face, but the light dust of a blush surprised John more than finding the other's lips on his did.

"What—?"

"Utter a soft word, John," he repeated, but this time more firmly.

John sat back in the chair, arms folded across his chest. "I've got nothing to say softly to you."

The blush on Sherlock's face darkened, which let John know that there was more to his request. He wasn't a genius like Sherlock was, but he could form an idea of why he'd be asking, He shifted, leaning forward to hold on to the armrests of the other's chair, placing his left knee beside Sherlock. He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of his ear. "You've been thinking about me, haven't you?" he murmured softly.

Sherlock shivered, staring at the fabric in his view. John's voice was so sensual…He couldn't help the arousal he felt just from his words. "Y-yes." Did he just stutter? "I have in fact." John's lips brushed across the shell of his ear, and he shuddered again. John knew what he's doing, Sherlock thought. He swallowed thickly. "S-several times."

John was enjoying this, seeing the all confident Sherlock Holmes stutter and shudder underneath his simple actions. He brushed his thumb along his cheek, turning Sherlock's face towards his. John kissed him, not just lips touching lips, no; it was a real kiss, in which Sherlock's lips parted at the feel. The blush on his cheeks grew impossibly darker.

"Come with me, Sherlock," he murmured against his lips, taking his hand.

Sherlock was hesitant as John stood, still holding his hand. His partner gave him a hint of reassurance, and then he stood. John led him up to his bedroom. He was backed onto the bed. He sat with his hands folded in his lap.

"Tell me what you think about," John said, climbing on the bed.

Sherlock swallowed. "You….You always speak so gentle to me, voice so low. I can't help it. I find it so attractive. I…I can only imagine what it would sound like in—ngh!" John had taken to kissing and suckling on his neck, interrupting his statement. "…in…person…"

John began to pop buttons open, reveal soft pale skin. He took his time exploring the newly revealed skin. He noticed his left nipple was bruised, and John could tell it wasn't over a day old. John eased Sherlock down onto his back, pushing his shirt open more. He started at his neck, leaving a trail of hickies along his neck. Sherlock made a small sound of pleasure.

"John…" Sherlock breathed.

John continued leave a trail of hickes down the center of his chest. Sherlock's hands reached up pull on John's hair, John giving a soft groan as he continued to leave bright red marks down to the waistband of his trousers. He slid his trousers down easily after unbuckling his belt. He rubbed gingerly at the clothed, hard cock he found there, watching as the taller man's head turn to the side and a shiver ran down his spine. A low moan was drawn from his mouth as he was licked through his boxers. John was teasing him through the fabric, and it was driving Sherlock insane. He mewled lightly, pulling harder on John's hair.

"Gods! John, more!"

John smiled lightly, peeling away the now damp fabric and tossing them off to the side. He took Sherlock's hard cock into his hand, pumping him slowly, taking his time. He rubbed his thumb across the tip of his cock, circling around the head, and driving the taller man into a pleasured frenzy, streams of various curses spilling from his lips.

"Y-you're—ah!—you're enjoying this…"

John traced the large vein along his shaft with his thumbnail. "So are you, Sherlock."

Sherlock bit his lip as John kissed the head of his cock before he made his way up his body to his ear. "How's this?" he asked softly, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. His warm breath tickled his ear as he spoke, and Sherlock couldn't bring himself to any shame whatsoever as his cock leaked precum. "Do you like it when I touch right here?"

John's voice was just as he pictured it, except lower, more caring and concerned about how he felt. It was brilliant; it was hot. Sherlock barely managed to utter a soft 'Yes…' John's hand was more experienced than his own and it felt amazing. He reached up to grab at the sweater-vest John was wearing. He was over dressed for the situation. He was going to try to pull it off, but John stopped him.

"John.." He swallowed thickly. "I want this. I know you do too…"

John chuckled. "Of course you know," he said softly as he took Sherlock's hand in his, placing it above his head.

Sherlock sat up, bringing both of his arms around John's neck. "Please give me this." He brushed his lips along John's neck, encouraging him further. His hands slipped under both his dress shirt and vest, pushing them upwards until John worked with him to get the items off. It was Sherlock's turn, now, to let his hands roam. It was very clear he used to be in the army. Only signs that Sherlock (or his brother) could have picked up on. His long fingers, almost hesitantly, reached down to undo his belt and trousers. He was willing to go through this just to hear John speak softly in his ear? No, it wasn't like he didn't want this at all. That wasn't the case. Sherlock had always had a fancy towards John, even if he implied several times that he considered himself married to his work. There was that raw side of him that wanted John to speak more than just soft words in his ear. John had stripped himself while Sherlock was stuck in thought of why he was _really_ doing this.

Again, John's lips were at his ear, speaking in just the right way. "Relax, Sherlock. Relax…" His hands kneaded his hips and the action was so comforting and it felt wonderful, that he felt his body responding to his action. "Yes, that's it. Relax."

His brain was fuzzy with the comforting motion of the kneading of his hips combined with the pleasure he felt earlier. He didn't process why he would need to relax at that moment. The sound of a top popping him open brought him back to the moment. _Oh_ that's why. The sickening sweet smell of lubricant filled the room. He closed his eyes when a slick hand wrapped around his shaft, pumping him slowly. His breath hitched slightly. Soft lips kissed along his jawline as a finger slowly worked its way into him. His natural reaction was to clamp down on the finger, but John was telling him to relax in such a way that made him do so. A soft sigh escaped him as John loosened him up.

"That's it."

Sherlock blushed a dark shade of red as he was quickly reduced to noises. Another finger slid in, and this time it hurt, but John kept him relaxed. Soon the pain was a burning pleasure that made him gasp and tilt his head back, a moan leaving him. John took the opportunity to shower down more kisses along his now exposed neck, leaving more hickies and lightly bitemarks on the soft flesh. Skilled fingers worked him loose and pulled him further into pleasure.

John slowly pulled his fingers out, spreading Sherlock's legs apart, rubbing his thighs lightly. Sherlock was a bit scared, yeah. Isn't the first time always a bit scary? But he trusted John. John looked like the type of person who would be a rather wild lover, but so far, Sherlock has pieced together quite the opposite, and he was rather enjoying it. The bottle of lubricant was opened again. John added the lotion on his cock as he pumped himself. He smeared extra at Sherlock's entrance, and the taller man felt just a tad bit insecure exposed like he was. Gently, John guided himself in, stopping when Sherlock tensed and clamped down.

"Relax," he breathed huskily in the male's ear, "Let me in, Sherlock. Relax."

A shudder ran down Sherlock's spine. _God_ _that voice_ was something to listen to. He relaxed slowly. As he did, John continued to ease his way in. Finally in all the way, he gave the man time to adjust. John combed his fingers through the mess of soft brown curls, surprised at how much the action relaxed him. Sherlock's eyes closed slowly, and he gave a nod. John murmured "Stay relaxed," over and over as he slowly slid out and eased back in until he was used to the feeling.

"J-John~ I…I can take it. Please, harder!"

John leaned down, and Sherlock's parted instantly. He smiled and kissed him, placing his elbows beside either side of Sherlock's head, pressing into his shoulders to give him more leverage. The taller man arched up into his body, moaning loudly into the kiss. John deepened the kiss along with his thrust, further driving his partner mad—but in a good way.

"J-John! John! John!" Sherlock cried out, wrapping his arms around John's neck and he legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Right there! Right—" John silenced him with another kiss.

John brought Sherlock into each of his thrusts, holding that angle to hit that bundle of nerves that was making Sherlock fall apart under his body.

"That's it—ha! Sherlock, you feel so nice! Good, rock your hips up like that."

This thrill was nothing like the thrill he got working on a case, putting his life in danger in order to cure a little boredom. No, this thrill was more. He loved this more. It made him feel amazing. John was murmuring to him again, nothing that made sense, and for once, Sherlock didn't try to make sense of anything. His mind was too foggy for that. He could only think that John was as close as he was. Whether or not John knew it or not, but everything he'd said was exactly what he imagined during late night wanks before going back to bed. Everything except—

"Come, Sherlock. Come for me," John purred, hand reaching down to pump Sherlock's forgotten cock.

The extra stimulation sent him over the edge with a stream of curses, moans, and of course, John's name. Hips bucking wildly as he rode out his orgasm, he clawed at John's back, leaving small scratches that bled a little.

"Good boy. That's it…" John groaned.

Sherlock panted, continuing to claw. He managed to make John look at him, catching him right when he came. A soft sound came from Sherlock as he was filled with John's seed. The ex-soldier rolled onto the bed, pulling the other on top of him, pulling out. Sherlock shuddered.

"T-that…That was the most—" Sherlock didn't have words to describe it.

"I'm not as dirty as I look," John said with a smile, understanding what he wanted to say.

For once, Sherlock couldn't read John like usual, his brain still fuzzy from such a phenomenal orgasm. John combed his fingers through the mop of curls on Sherlock's head, the man relaxing and sighing softly from the feeling.

"John—"

"Don't speak. Just sleep. Don't argue with me. Sleep.."

That didn't seem like a bad idea at the moment. Sherlock closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of John's fingers through his hair combined with the lull of his heartbeat. Aaaaaand…..he was out, sleeping soundly on John's chest. John chuckled softly, brushing curls from the sleeping man's face.

"Sleep well, Sherlock…."

John slipped from underneath Sherlock, careful not to wake him. He put his clothes back, hunting down his shoes. He picked up his wallet, placing it in his back pocket. They needed groceries, and this was the best time to get them. He pulled the blanket over Sherlock, watching as he slept calmly. He made his way downstairs when he came across Mrs. Hudson.

"John! How are you?"

"I'm well, Mrs. Hudson. If you don't mind my request, please leave Sherlock be until I get back. If anyone comes with a case, please kindly let them go."

" I will. What got him to lay down early?" she wondered aloud.

John smiled. "He had….other things on his mind."

With that he left their flat in order to go shopping.

Sherlock was unable to keep anything down the few mornings. He'd spent more time bent over the toilet than doing his normal thing. Anytime he'd try to do his normal routine, he'd end up having to run back to the toilet. Oh, he was absolutely _miserable. _John came in with a cold, wet wash cloth. Sherlock was on the verge of crying, his stomach hurt so bad. John tilted Sherlock's head back, placing the wash cloth on his forehead.

"Sh, sh, sh. It's okay," John said softly, combing his fingers through his soft brunette hair. He picked up another wash cloth and wiped Sherlock's mouth. "You're alright."

Sherlock laid his head on John's shoulder. Wrong motion. Another wave nausea hit. John caught the wash cloth as Sherlock sat up to throw up again. A whining noise came from the man. John sighed softly.

"Come on. Back to bed with you." John help Sherlock up slowly. He led him back to bed. "What's wrong?"

"I….I don't know." Sherlock closed his eyes as he thought. He put pieces together. He'd gained at least ten pounds in almost a week, he was sick, and his stomach—

The look on his face told John he figured it out. He pulled up a chair beside the bed. "What's wrong, Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to look at John. He slowly shook his head. "You're not going to believe me when I tell you." John snorted, but the man had his attention. "There's no other reasonable explanation for any of this….John….I'm pregnant."

John blinked repeatedly, tilting his head. "Wha….What?" Clearly, he didn't hear that right.

"I'm pregnant, John."

John nodded once, licking his lips. Yeah, he heard him right. Didn't mean he believed him right away, which was perfectly acceptable for Sherlock. He himself didn't believe it. He had to prove it. He moved to sit up, but another wave of nausea threatened him, and he lay back down. Okay, he'd do that after a nap. John felt it was necessary to sit on the other side of the bed and lay down beside him. Sherlock shifted slowly so he was on his side, back to John. He pressed against the shorter man, spooning. He closed his eyes, groaning softly. John put an arm around Sherlock, rubbing his stomach lightly.


	2. Nine Months of Hell

**_Month One:_**

The sickness had eventually slowed immensely, but there were still those few times when Sherlock would move in a way that his stomach didn't agree with and breakfast would no longer be in his stomach. John struggled to get Sherlock to eat when they were on a case. Sometimes, he'd have to force feed him, which was embarrassing to both of them. But there was one day when Sherlock wasn't having anything.

"J-John!" he called out, curling up on the bed, clutching his stomach. He'd only taken one bite of his breakfast when he got sick again.

John was up in a matter of minutes with a two wash cloths. "Oh, Sherlock…." he said softly, combing his fingers through his hair as he threw up into the trashcan beside the bed.

"Throat stings.." Sherlock muttered after he was done. John wiped his mouth.

"It's because you haven't ate anything. You're throwing up stomach acid. Finish eating the toast. You should be able to keep that down, at least." John sat Sherlock up.

"I can't keep anything down today!"

John sighed. "I know, but you have to eat something. You'll get even sicker if you don't eat."

Sherlock felt sick again and he laid back down to ease it off. He reached to the plate, grabbing the piece of toast. He slowly took a bite and chewed, looking back at John. He rubbed his back soothingly.

"That's it. Call me when you're done eating." He rubbed his arm before standing and leaving his room.

Sherlock ate the toast slowly, watching his partner leave. He sat up, legs crossed underneath the blanket. He scratched his bare chest as he leaned back against the headboard. He dumped the rest of the plate of food in the trashcan. He dropped the plate on the floor, listening to it clatter loudly. John came up, sighing.

"Did you at least eat the toast?"

Sherlock crossed his arms. "Yes, I ate the toast."

"You're so childish sometimes," John sighed.

"Bite me."

John snorted as he picked up the plate, setting it on the night stand. "Well, if you insist…" he said, placing his knees on either side of Sherlock, who tried to fight him off, but he was weak from throwing up. John ended the struggle with his hands pinned to the wall above his head. His mouth closed around a soft area near his ear. He applied light pressure and Sherlock inhaled sharply. He closed his eyes, gripping John's shirt, trying to pull him away but to no avail.

When John finally did, he'd left a large love bite on the side of his neck.

"That won't be going away for a while," Sherlock said, rubbing the area that was just bitten.

"You'll be fine."

John's phone vibrated in his back pocket and Sherlock reached back to pick it up. He made a face at the contact. He texted back whoever is was and returned the phone to John's back pocket. John didn't expect to be informed of who it was.

"Are you feeling better?"

"…Yes."

"See, I told you you needed to eat something," John said, climbing off the bed. "And now, if you're done puking your guts up, put some clothes on. We're expecting people."

Sherlock smirked, picking up the trashcan and bringing it into the main room where he sat a chair a couple of feet away from the other. He wrapped his blanket around himself tightly, and he sat down as John brought in another chair. John scratched his head then shook it. I guess Sherlock was going to be looking for clients in a sheet today.

"Are you wearing any pants?"

"No."

"Alright then." John brought out a set of clothes. "Whenever you decide to get dressed, love," John called as he walked into the kitchen.

**_Month Two:_**

Sherlock didn't seem to be gaining any weight. Since he'd stop throwing up so much, he'd been more active, running around London, jumping buildings, all of this against John's words, which was exactly why he did it. There wasn't much use in telling Sherlock not to do it. He'd do it anyways if he found it necessary.

John was insisting that Sherlock see a proper doctor, but Sherlock shrugged it off each time, going to the kitchen to finish one of his strange experiments.

"Why would I need to go out and see a doctor, when I got one right here?" Sherlock asked.

"If you haven't noticed, I was a bloody army doctor! I fix gashes, blown off body parts and the liking. And quite frankly, I've never delt with a pregnant woman, much less a man!" John rubbed his temples.

Sherlock shrugged. "Reason enough. I still don't understand why I'm pregnant…" He stared at the results in front of him.

**_Month Three:_**

Sherlock was starting to show signs of his pregnancy. Sherlock could still fit his pants, but barely now. If he wasn't such a twig, it wouldn't be so bad, John decided as he climbed into the taxi beside an uninterested Sherlock. Shopping wasn't one of his favorite things to do. That's why he never does it. The traffic was heavy, so it would be a good minute before they could get to a store to get Sherlock more pants—well clothes in general. He'd only been sitting in the taxi for a few minutes and he was already bored.

John was prepared. He opened up his backpack, taking out a three-by-three Rubik's Cube. Sherlock scoffed.

"I'll solve this in two minutes." And so he began to do.

"No problem. I've got plenty of them for you to solve during our wait."

Sherlock threw the cube back at John when he finished his sentence. "Done."

"Shengshou makes them all the way up to eleven-by- eleven," John said as he handed him a five-by-five.

"Excellent!"

John rolled his eyes, setting the bag between him and Sherlock so he could freely reach into the bag for another when he was done.

"How many of these do you have?"

"For you? A lot."

**_Months Four through Five:_**

Okay, it was safe to say the mood swings were happening. How does one deal with a bipolar sociopath? Very carefully, John decided as he dodged the last attempted swing from Sherlock. He had his hands raised as he back out of the kitchen.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I didn't—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Sherlock yelled, grabbing the frying pan off the stove and throwing it at John. "I know what you meant! It doesn't change a damn thing!"

John jumped out the way of the frying pan. Sherlock sat down at the kitchen table, head in his hands. "I'm fat, John…" The ex-soldier slowly moved to wrap his arms around his neck from behind. He pressed gentle kisses along his neck and ran his fingers slowly through his messy hair. "How do you put up with me during all this?"

"It takes a very specially kind of person to even be crazy enough to stay…" Sherlock chuckled, turning his head a bit kiss the corner of John's mouth.

They were fine afterwards until Mycrof showed up. John wasn't going to be the one to convince Sherlock not to beat his brother. He was rather encouraging it. With a frying pan.

**_Month Six:_**

John's eaten a lot of bizarre things before, but this…..This was making him sick just _watching_ Sherlock eat it with no problem. He was craving ice cream and pickles, so John went out and got him ice cream and pickles. He didn't know he was craving them _together._

"Sherlock…..that's just….That's just unhealthy."

"I get my daily exercise chasing you around with the frying pan. I'll be fine," Sherlock said, waving the man off as he dropped slices of pickles into the bowl of ice cream.

John grimaced as Sherlock to a pleased bite. Ugh, oh, yeah. He was definitely going to be sick.

**_Month Seven:_**

Sherlock was blaming John form him being pregnant, in which John didn't deny. He stayed by his side until he head to leave for work, calling in and checking on him every so often. Arriving back at the flat, he was met with a groaning man on the floor.

"Sherlock, what happened?" John asked, going to help him up.

"I…uh….I…fell…And I couldn't get up…" Sherlock blushed a dark shade of red.

"Why didn't you text me?"

"I didn't have my phone…"

John sighed. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock…You've got to be more careful."

"Thanks…"

"We need to get you to a doctor to get you properly checked out, Sherlock."

"No! I refuse." Sherlock sat on the couch, arms crossed over his large stomach.

John sighed again. "Alright. Fine."

John sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, picking up one of Sherlock's legs. He'd been spoiling the man silly massaging his swollen ankles, but it did ease his nerves to hear the soft sighs leave Sherlock. Going from as thin as a twig to pregnant was bit much for his ankles. He shook his head. How has he survived this long with the pregnant man?

**_Month Eight:_**

Sherlock was virtually immobilized by now, blowing off every case offered to him, he chose to lie on the couch or in bed to do his thinking. If the task seemed t0o farfetched for him to do, he put it on a mental list for him to do it later. John was at work, and he was in desperate need of some clean clothes, but his feet hurt too bad to even think about getting up and washing them. He'd shuffle to the kitchen and grab a cereal bar when he was hungry and then he'd lay right back down.

He was thankful when John came home. He actually thought about cooking something, but he felt like he couldn't make it through such a simple task.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" John asked, squatting in front of the couch to lightly touch the man's face. "Need anything?"

Sherlock sighed softly. He hated being on bed rest, not being able to do some things on his own. "Can you get some of my clothes washed up? And can you cook? I thought about doing it myself, but—"

"Shut up. You know I'll do it for you."

John smiled softly and stood. Sherlock grabbed his sweater. "Can we abort the mission?" He sat up slowly, meeting John's eyes. Well, that was an obvious no. "Can…I think I…The doctor…" was all he mumbled.

The ex-soldier laughed lightly. _Now_ he decided he wanted to go. He helped Sherlock find his shoes and he helped him outside as he called a cab.

**_Month Nine:_**

John wasn't sure how much more his hand could take. Sherlock had went into labor, and John couldn't feel his fingers, but nonetheless, he tried to help keep him calm until the ambulance arrived. Naturally the paramedics were shocked to find a pregnant male, ultimately saying something that pissed off the Sherlock. Sherlock in pain was not one John wanted to deal with.

"Sh, sh, sh, sh, sh," John murmured, taking his fingers through his hair. "Calm down, calm down or you'll go into a panic attack. Just relax, relax. You're fine."

John had used that voice, the very same voice that had gotten them into this whole strange mess. But goddammit! It was so soothing that Sherlock's breaths deepened and slowed. He inclined his head toward John's hand, calming down. He continued to praise him in that sexy voice. His contractions were half an hour apart, John staying by his side from the ambulance into the hospital.

It was when they were becoming minutes apart that John started to lose the ability to keep him calm, and he was rushed into an emergency C-section. And John was there through it as well.

* * *

Sherlock was exhausted by the end of the day, and he slept quietly after two hours being out of surgery. John sat by Sherlock's side, with their baby girl, James, in his arms. There was no doubting that she was Sherlock's. Her face was long and her hair was the same color as her mother's. John sighed softly, putting her down. There was room on the bed for John to wiggle in after kicking off his shoes. Sherlock shifted, scratched his nose, and he laid his head on John's shoulder, his arm resting on his chest. John combed his fingers through dark curls until he, himself settled down for some sleep as well.


	3. Sherlock Learns

John smoothed down the crying infant's hair, feeding her the bottle. She stopped her crying and took to the bottle happily. He looked up at Sherlock, who was back to doing his experiments, even though John could clearly see he was in pain from his C-section. He tried to get the man to sit and pay attention to their daughter, but that wasn't going to be happening.

"Sherlock, sit down. You've only been home for thirty minutes, and it's been three days since your C-section. Don't strain yourself."

"Shut up, John. I'm busy."

John's eyebrow twitched, but nonetheless, he shut his mouth, turning his attention back to the girl in his arms. He sat the bottle between his legs, seeing as Sherlock has taken over the coffee table with papers and such that would be just devastating to him to be ruined. James started to cry again, so John stood, bouncing her lightly and shushing her. He carried her to her bedroom. With no help at all, and permission from Mrs. Hudson, John had painted, bought, and moved in all the new furniture into his old bedroom. He'd even took the liberty of painting over the wall once more to make it where the walls could be drawn on without a problem. A coat of dry erase paint (that was not cheap in the slightest) should definitely solve that problem later on. He just wouldn't tell Sherlock that. John sat in the rocking chair after closing the door.

"Baby girl trying to fight her nap?" he cooed softly as he rocked her. He hummed an old tune he'd heard that was soft and sweet. James yawned and cuddled against John's chest. He rocked her to sleep, putting her in her crib before going downstairs to tend to Sherlock now.

When he got downstairs, Sherlock had his hand out. John sighed and dropped his phone into the awaiting hand.

"I had asked for this five minutes ago," Sherlock said as he texted whoever.

John stayed quiet; not answering was his best answer. He _tsk_ed and went to the fridge. He pushed the head out of the way, reaching behind it to pick up a canned drink. He sat back down on the couch, catching his phone when it was thrown at him haphazardly.

"You're not going to speak?" Still no answer. "Ah. I see. I've angered you."

"No, Sherlock. You've done more than just angered me. To be frank, you've pissed me off."

"Don't I always?"  
John clenched and unclenched his fists. Naturally, it didn't escape Sherlock's attention, and he stepped back as John stood, setting his drink down on a stack of papers. John approached Sherlock with unclenched fists, and he took a step back. He winced as John's hand made contact against his face. He was relieved and surprised that he was just slapped. He knew he deserved a good punch. His face stung and he watched as John sat back down on the couch angrily, laying down with his back to Sherlock. Sherlock examined over John. He wasn't asleep, more of thinking. Sherlock knew he wouldn't be there long. He always needed John to do something for him, and John always got up and did whatever it was that he needed.

"John, I need…."

John rolled his eyes, staying put on the couch until the list was over with.

"You're not going to write that down?"

John looked back at the taller man. "No, I'm not. You need it. Go yourself. Because I'm not carrying that damn car seat around because you can't go get things you need to do whatever experiment you're doing."

"But John—"

" 'But John' up my ass. Get it yourself."

"I'll care for James while you're gone."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "Bringing her downstairs and putting her in her playpen is not taking care of her."

"John!" Sherlock was getting irritated with his partner

John was on his feet and in front of Sherlock within a matter of minutes, which startled Sherlock. "Don't raise your voice at me! I've taken your bullshit for a year. You will respect me, Sherlock! I am your partner, not your personal slave. You could be a little kinder to me and ask me if I'll get what you need instead of giving me a list and expect to drop everything to go and get it. I've been patient with you, but you've got more responsibility now. You need to quit these experiments and start paying attention to our daughter, Sherlock. I'm not going to be the only one slaving around our, _our_, shared flat while we raise James. Do you understand me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's only answer was a nod, jaw dropped a bit. He watched the muscles in his neck tense and relax. "Good," said John. "Then I'll be back in an hour or more."

John picked up his coat, putting it on as he walked out the door. Sherlock watched John slam the door. Damn, did John just _intimidate_ him? He examined himself. Fingers shook lightly, heart pounding faster than normal, sense of relief that John was away. Yeah, he'd been intimidated. Just a tad. He bit his lower lip, glancing up. John was right. He hated it, but John was right. He should probably start cleaning up his silly tests, starting with the head in the fridge. He put that on a mental list to do later. But for now, he'd finish what he was working on.

An hour had past and John still wasn't home, which made Sherlock sigh. He groaned when James started crying. He tried ignoring her, but she was breaking his concentration. He went up to her room, picking up the wailing infant. He cradled her with one arm while dialed John's number on the phone. John answered on the third ring.

"What is it?"

"Is it time for James—"

John gave instruction for how to warm up a bottle and the such. Sherlock kept Jams bouncing, and she seemed content with just that as he circled around the kitchen. He noted the slightly happy tone when he hung up. He did as he was instructed to warm the bottle. When John had gotten home, Sherlock was sitting on the couch wrestling James out of her pants. She was kicking away at him.

"Hold still, child, so I can get your—" He finally managed to get them off. Getting off her diaper and putting on a fresh one was easier than taking her pants off. He put them back on her, and settled her in his arms and gave her her bottled. He looked up and was genuinely surprised to see John standing at the doorway, bags in hand and a grin on his face.

"That's taking care of her," he murmured, setting the bags on the floor by the coffee table and dropping a kiss on James' head while he fed her.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked as John walked away from them.

"To shower. You'll be fine for a couple more minutes with her."

Sherlock had officially given up his experiments. He'd throw every body part that didn't belong into a trashbag to be taken care of properly. Those still sat in the fridge, however. His test tubs and the such were stored neatly away. John was rather proud of the improvement he made, though he still had murder on the mind. He was paying more attention to James that he probably would have if John didn't convince him to stop with his work every once in a while.


	4. James' First Christmas

Babysitters were hard to find. Sherlock was a creep to most people in London. And nobody wanted to deal with anything that was remotely DNA related to the man. Which caused John and Sherlock having to take their daughter around on cases or John just stay at the flat. And would it be the luck that there was a case on Christmas? Sherlock paced around, glancing from James in her playpen chewing on Sherlock's scarf, to John sitting on the couch with a sour look on his face, then to his brother who insisted he join and help.

When Sherlock stopped moving and he stood straight, both men look at him. "No," Sherlock said, sitting on the couch beside John.

John raised his eyebrows. "No? But Sherlock, this case has got everything you've been looking for—"  
"I said no, and I mean no. I've got….better things to do today."

Mycrof snorted. "Like what? Sitting in this dump all day?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. I haven't been busting my balls to wrap all these gifts for James for nothing, now have I? I'll be damned if I don't watch her open them."

"She's one month, Sherlock, please."

The brunette shook his head one last time and looped his arm through John's, taking his hand in his, interlacing their fingers. His brother shrugged and he left, slamming the door shut. John was too stunned to do anything, react to anything. Sherlock sat on the edge of the couch, catching John's attention.

"You just blew off the biggest and dirtiest case you've been asking for….for James?" He chuckled, grabbing Sherlock's chin and pulled him into a soft kiss.

"I want the case," Sherlock said softly. "But like I said. I spent hours wrapping those gifts. I'm going to watch her open them." He smiled, grabbing John's head and kissing him harder.

James' whining made both men break apart, panting lightly. Sherlock got up, picking up the infant and brought her over to the couch. She stopped whining as soon as she was out of the playpen. Spoiled thing.

Both of them sat in the floor, reaching under the Christmas tree. 99.9 percent of them were for James, and she really seemed to enjoy having something to tear up. She was more focused on ripping the paper into a million pieces than anything. John chuckled as Sherlock poked holes in all the wrapping to help her rip it. It was the cutest thing ever in John's opinion. Eventually they got down to the last two things. James had fallen asleep in Sherlock's lap, curling up with his scarf. John reached under the tree, picking them up with a blush. Sherlock took both of them setting one aside.

"Here, John. "

John took it slowly, unsure. But the intent gaze of Sherlock's eyes told him he'd better open it. It was a small square box wrapped very messily. Obviously he was in a hurry to wrap it. That made him more curious and he tugged off the ribbon tied into a bow and peeled away the wrapping paper. It was a box covered in felt and John tried not to get too excited. Sherlock easily let him down a number of times. But he wasn't let down this time when he opened the box, revealing a ring with 'Will you marry me, John?' inside the band. It was simple, and he loved it.

Sherlock tilted his head. "Well?" he asked softly in his ear.

John grabbed the man and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Sherlock pulled him closer, a soft sigh leaving him. "So is that a yes?"

John nodded. "It's a yes…"

Sherlock took the ring, sliding it on John's finger.

"Now, I really see why you didn't take the case…."

"Yeah, this about sums up why. I'll put her in bed, I suppose….."

"Let her keep the scarf."

"But…this is my favorite scarf!"

"Let her keep it. She sleeps fine with it."

"Fine, but I want your scarf."


End file.
